The public beach was closing when I saw him walking down the path toward me and the beach. I stared at him in disbelief. This was my spot this was where I take my children. It’s where I recharge my energy, disconnect from the city, and reconnect to nature.

Is that really him…

Yes, it really fucking him.

In that moment, I have never wanted to cause someone physical pain as much I imaged about him. As I glared at him and watched several violent scenarios play out in my head.

Somewhere in the background was reality and I hear “A” say, “MOM!”

Remembering that there were children everywhere, including my own children regardless of how much I want to punch this fucking coward. I couldn’t.

“A”, my middle child, had pulled me out of my vicious thoughts and saw this man, realizing why I was frantically packing up our beach stuff. I knew that no matter the amount of pain I wanted to cause him it would not be worth the consequences.

I told my children, who needed to collect their floats, that I had to go to the truck right now. “A” nodded and said they could grab the rest.

My hands were shaking as I pull my keys out and unlocked the truck. We were still going to have deflate the 6ft floaties to be able to leave. Yet, all I wanted to do was walk over and kick this man in the back of the knee and watch him fall or just fucking drive a way.

Driving away first was not an opinion. We absolutely could not get the floaties in the car without letting out most of the air of them. Although I had put some effort into trying to just shove them in the truck without much success.

We watched him walk away and head toward the camp grounds, “R” said, “Mom you okay?”

I said, “I will be, but we just need to go.”

He said, “I know mom, we will.”

“A” told me that the coward watched me walk off the beach and whisper something the others that he was with. “A” who is the sweetest and most forgive teenager said, “I wanted to punch him for looking at you.”

We laughed, and I said, “Fuck that guy, this was great a day!”

We drove home listen to powerful women singing about not needing a man. I hung out with friends who have been so supportive and truly seem to understand the extent of what this man has done to me for far too long and truly are the best thing that has come out of all of this.

I went to bed later than normal still angryish, which is not a place I like to be… yet I know that the angry I feel for him is so strong because of the love I thought he and I had.… I believed him and I opened heart and he let some else stomp on it for him.

I fell asleep thinking the common phrase that is said when his name is mentioned…

Fuck that guy!

At 4 am this morning. I woke up and my hands hurt so bad you would have thought that I had actually used them as weapons. I had slept most of the night with my hands clenched in fists.

They throbbed and ached to point that I could not fall back to sleep. I got up rubbed some icy/hot on them.

I pulled out my Louise Hay book and read the following:

Hands: Hold and handle. Clutch and grip. Grasping and letting go. Caressing. Pinching. All ways of dealing with experiences.

Affirmation: I chose to handle all my experiences with love and with joy and with ease.

Arthritic Fingers – A desire to punish. Blame. Feeling victimized.

Affirmation: I see with love and understanding. I hold all my experiences up to the light of love.

ARTHRITIS: Feeling unloved, criticism, resentment.

Affirmation: I am love. I now choose to love and approve of myself. I see others with love.

I know I should release this angry that I feel towards this man. I have let him go repeatedly with this peacefully wish. Even this time despite my hurt and the angry I felt towards myself for being the fool for believing in him.

I simply continued my path, the one that was set into motion long before him.

I didn’t expect to be that angry when/if I saw him again, but I was. I probably will be for a while…. And as much I should repeat these affirmations because I know they work, I am not ready to release him with love and peace; for now….

This time was for me. Despite, knowing that there are people that going to say I deserve it.

Trust me there are parts of me that feels like I did.

The laws of Karma, right. I accept this as a Karmic lesson that I planned.

I am very good at putting the blame back on myself. I made choices. I knew what I was getting into. I know who he is, and I fell in love him repeatedly. I would just get to this place of moving forward and I’d let him pull me back in again and again. I was a willing participant.

I responded to his message “I’m single” and I let him back into heart and my life, way too fast and way to soon. I wanted to lead with heart this time; not with my brain or vagina.

I believed in the words that he was saying to me and for the first couple of months they were full of action. Although, there were moments that I felt like what I was saying was not be heard, it out weighted the way my heart felt. The way he looked at me and told me it was always me. When he stopped the car in the middle of the street and told me he wanted to marry me. I said, “Fuck you, drive” He pleaded with how serious he was, and I bought into it.

The memories of the first time he said, “I love you.” rushed back to me.

Unconditional love or…

As things continued to get serious, I started recognizing patterns of the past. Actions that were all too familiar. Abruptly as if it was switch he was able to turn off, his words were empty of action and short in explanation. His fuse was shorter, and everything was my fault.

“U need to chill” was suddenly his response.

I carried the blame and faults during my entire marriage, and this was the road he and I were headed. It was NOT a road I wanted to go down again.

Despite of his faults, I wanted this to be real. I wanted the world to see that man I fell in love with in private. That there was this whole other part of this man and I was lucky enough to see. I have thought many things about this man that I love, and in time I will be able to say loved; but I never thought he was a coward. Now, I do.

It didn’t have to end that way it did.

Because of that event I will not let him into heart or my life ever again. Because now it feels like a cruel game and I release myself from this torture. I am tired of the energy. This relationship was once sexually freeing is now so wrapped in games and lies.

It doesn’t even matter if any of it was real.

Again, I was starting to feel like a secret, a place for him to escape.

I spent most of my life feeling like the rooms were full things left unsaid and unfelt.

I felt like my dad’s family treated me like secret child. I have kept silent about both my abuse as a child and an adult. I continue to put myself in these situations to be mistreated over and over again, to repeat this cycle of torture.

During my divorce, as way to help me cope with the actions of my ex, my therapist gave this phrase: “We do what we know”

She never meant for me to unpack my acceptance in that phrase but to better help me understand why others can’t move past their choices.

I chose to unpack here. I chose to not only use this phrase to justify the behaviors of others, but I used it to justify my own. I realize now that I let him keep my marital wounds open. For all the old secrets that he reminded me off, the ones I had healed. I let them become real again. I let myself be convinced that this was how it was because this is what I knew, it was familiar.

But if I know better than I can chose to do the unknown.

I used this phrase as excuse not to publish because the groups of people that once cherished made me feel wrong in the things that felt. I let others convince me that my writing and art was done out of loneliness, even though at the time I didn’t feel lonely.

Emotional and vulnerable, yes.

I felt misunderstood.

For the recorded I am not lonely. I want to surround myself with people who embrace me for the unique way I see and feel the world even if it appears foolish in the end. Because it’s okay to have loved and to have tried.

There are not a lot of things I need but I needed to give him this chance. I needed to feel it and I needed to know.

I accept my role as the fool, but I am also the lover, the empress, the magician, the healer, the artist, and the writer.

He was able to see all of those in me, but he was only able to burn the fool. The rest remains intact.

Instead of texting that friend or getting lost in an in person conversation. We get lost in Facebook feeds and shut the real world out.

Do we bury ourselves in feeds and what’s going on in other people’s lives to avoid or disconnect?

Perhaps somewhere subconsciously comparing.

Are we as a Society scared of rejection and disappointment that we would rather stare at a screen than make eye connect with a friend?

I am not looking for any specific answer just had something wonderful happen and felt the need to share. Then decided to keep it to myself no Facebook, no friends, or no family just my own personal little moment.

My life has presented its self with so many changes, some that terrified me and others that I embraced with open arms. Roughly during this period. I have watched relationships both big and small change and shift. I had lots of moments where I didn’t feel that anyone understands and still do. I have been estranged from my oldest child and not for a lack of trying.

I have gone inward to find peace and understanding.

I have felt misunderstood.

I have felt overwhelming mom guilt.

I have felt shamed and shunned.

I have doubted my own intuition and my own abilities.

I have written pages and pages in my journals and sketched about my thoughts, feelings, goals, dreams, hopes, and some about my fears.A lot of it, I’m still unable to share because I haven’t completely processed it all.

I try to not listen to the rumors, most of which are not the whole truth only versions that fit the speaker.I have tried to just exist in my own world and surround myself among those who have a similar outlook as myself.

I talk about sex, love, dating, parenting, art, and spirituality because these are the things that I find the most challenging or compelling.

I am for the most a happy person and I find appreciation in the smallest things.Yet I feel guilty or wrong when I have a day that is heavy, a day where I can’t see past the fear not matter how irrational it may seem.I have learned over the last 18 months that people don’t care about your reality. That the standard answer to “how have you been?” is “I’m good.”

That no one wants to hear about how my oldest repeating tells me get out his life, despite my efforts and how crushing that responds feels: or how the man Ibelieve loved me told me to deny the whole relationship; or how another who I loved many years ago pretended to have my best interest at heart and ended up being just like the rest of the men I have dated over that last few years (he has now tainted the old memories); or how a bar owner locked the door while I was in the bathroom and then proceed to wipe out his dick and masturbate in front of me.

The reality is that from time to time my ego convinces me that I deserved all these things, that should not have wanted more, that I am not worthy of the wants and should focus on the thing I need and know I can achieve alone.

I don’t like to admit the things that I want out of fear of disappointment, out of feeling like I don’t really deserve these things. That somehow if I speak them out loud, post them on social media, or blog about them, they will not materialize as punishment for want things that I don’t merit.

I have written dozens of short stories, poetry, and blog pieces. All through college we had groups of readers that would give feedback. Advising the writer on things that worked well and things that didn’t. Not having a steady group of readers, to help with feedback creates a whole new set of challenges. However, I have mange to muddle through writing without them.

At the end of 2016, the day after my 36th birthday, I was presented with the opportunity to write an actually book. I have degree in creative writing, so it felt like it should be a no brainer, but it was both exciting and terrifying

What would I write about?

Our first couple of meetings were brain storming. I could simply dust off a couple of older long short stories that I had written in college. However, there was a subject that I had briefly touch on my other blog, that she was intrigued by.

I laughed into the phone nervously and said, “Well, I’ve always said someday I would write a book about the adventure, but really who wants to hear about that. Beside I don’t have an ending.”

We agreed that I should re-read the old stories, and she courage me start writing about my adventure, just to see how it made me feel. I started to writing and the words started to pour out of me, and within days of this conversation the adventure came to an actually end.

It felt like the universe was pushing me to tell this story, this adventure that I had jokingly said I would about write someday.

I have written for hours through the memories and moments that had caused me joy, confusion, and pain. I have changed names, dates, and locations turning it into a work of fiction. I have taken breaks from the story, and worked on different projects. I have had periods where I thought of giving up, because I was too emotionally connected. I have thrown a 60 page draft at the door of my studio. Screaming “I’m over this!”

I have burned rough drafts while I declared I was giving up and would tell a different story.

I started in January of 2017 over the months, I watched the story grow and shrink. I cut paragraphs and even pages. I moved flashbacks forward and back again. I sat in the warm sun and under the moon writing. I watched the season change with my story. By November, I finally had the ending. I had the story complete and now it was time to let others read it. It was time share my story.

I needed fresh points of views. Two out of my original four readers came through. Their grammar edits and comments raved over my “voice”, but I still couldn’t move forward. I was afraid that by opening up this story again. I would get sucked back into the nostalgic parts of the reality in which this story stemmed from.

I painted and worked on other creative projects. I knew that the March’s full moon cycle was going to be about writing. I completed my painted and sat with my story, slowly making grammar edits. I was now past my personal deadline for this book and need to move forward or completely abandoned it.

However, this unfinished version was driving me crazy, this had been a year of my life, it involved sweat, tears, blood, and joy.

Was I really willing to walk away out of fear of back sliding?

FUCK NO!

I sat in my room for 15 hours, editing and rewriting sections of my story, to give clarity to my readers. I was finally satisfy and ready for two more beta readers.

Now, I wait “patiently” for their developmental feedback.

This journey has been just as emotional and exciting as the actually adventure was. Even when I want to give up, I’m grateful for my friends, my mom and my writing coach who have all reminded me that it’s a story that should be told and my voice effortlessly tells it.

My younger boys are frequently telling me that I should put myself out there more. However, I like my life right now. It’s full of only important people. The people who understand that I can disappear into my creative world and will eventually emerge enlighten, calm, and happy.

This lingering thought “Put yourself out there” sank into my brain as I got into the shower the other day. Which led to not being able to remember the last time I shaved, and the day before I had spotted a 1 inch long hair by my ankle. Then I glanced at my armpits and I immediately grabbed my razor.

Enough! I may be a hippie feminist, but I am not having long unwanted hair.

Being lazy about shaving wasn’t really about pleasing a man or anyone else.

Main reason: WINTER!!!

Ok and it’s been almost a month since a man has seen me naked. Add in the fact there are no real potential men waiting in the wings.

I shaved anyway which put me behind schedule that morning to do so, but I felt great about this small female accomplishment.

This morning I am in the shower washing and thinking about the intentions I am setting for the day. I think about a million things in the shower. It’s my Zen spot or my processing my place. The water running over my naked body, feeling refreshed and renewed. As I am washing I get to my vulva, this beautiful flower that I have played with so many times.

Suddenly I am horrified at the length of my bush. I mean I knew it was getting long, but seriously, it looks like a forest of long stringy hair perturbing for my wonder fountain of deliciousness.

Ugh! So this led to the… “I don’t have time to groom! I will be late.” Then my children knocking the door asking to be let into the only bathroom.

So I as I rise off, dry off and think man it feels like the hair spurted up overnight like a weed after it rained. That must be it! The great organism I gave myself last night must have encourage overnight growth.

I gave up the bathroom up to my boys and head upstairs, thinking maybe I could sport a vagina bush braid. I wonder what a man would think as he was about kiss my lips and saw my bush braid. Does it differ from a beard braid?

Hmm, I don’t really like to kiss hairy lips, so I will give up the possible bush braid trend and shave tonight.

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